


Around The Edges

by asimplemind (softly_speaking_valkyrie)



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chandler x Veronica - Freeform, Chansaw, Classroom, Edgy!Chandler, F/F, Forbidden Romance, Goth!Chandler, Kissing, Lots of kissing, Love, Makeup, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Sapphic, Tattoos, pinned against the wall, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softly_speaking_valkyrie/pseuds/asimplemind
Summary: Having left a slightly shifted Westerberg high-school, Veronica finds herself even at college and still surrounded by many of the same identical faces of senior, forcing her to ask 'What the hell happened?' All apart from with Heather Chandler. Instead of a red blazer, chained and frilly brow, and incredibly lavish blonde hair, now Chandler sports black turtle-necks, tartan shits, thigh-high leather boots and even a plethora of gorgeous tattoos. Veronica doesn't need to ask what happened, the baby weight around Chandler is telling enough, but what she can't explain is why she cannot look away from her in class, ever. How will she cope when Chandler begins to clock and stare back?
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Around The Edges

“Ronnie? Ronnie? _Veronica!_” Martha jabbed into Veronica’s side, propelling her awake at their tables once again.

Her petite walk into a realm of non-cognition was not an isolated incident. And sure enough, as she began to bring her mind back into the land of the waking, Veronica Sawyer noticed she’d blanked again to the same voice once more filling the room from across the way. Martha Dunnstock recoiled in her seat next to Veronica as she too noticed who was boasting to the class once more about her teaching placement in the middle of a question – Heather Chandler. The red scrunchie in her hair was ever-present, and as sure as Martha had suggested, omniscient, as Heather finished her question to Fleming and looked across the room at Veronica and her friend.

Seemingly like twins next to her, Heather Duke and Heather McNamara did the same, although with not nearly as much fire in their eyes and suspicion written across their lips than Chandler. The red-tailored Heather was as subtle as a whirling chainsaw to Martha, but Veronica was still innocently and hopelessly entranced, even looking away from the lady in red.

“Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was better at putting you to sleep than when Kurt starts talking about football,” Martha whispered over the sound of Miss Fleming answering the previous question.

Veronica kept her head down, her hands and legs almost tucked in above and below the desk and tried not to admit how wrong her best friend was and always had been. Heather could never put Veronica to sleep, as much as she could a lot more of the class – her luscious tones and melodic voice had the adverse opposite effect on Sawyer. She was completely mesmerised by the crimson Heather, always looking to her deep maroon blazer and red tops, her high-waisted jeans or tartan trousers, her pencil leather skirts and long flowing gowns. Veronica’s eyes were smitten by the myriad and prose of tattoos that the short sleeves of Chandler’s rolled-up turtleneck sleeves allowed her to see – the line art and red striped arrow down the face of an in-progress David Bowie, the blended and slightly faded visage of the Evil Queen from Disney’s _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_, and some of the familiar faces from _Alice In Wonderland_ not just limited to a hookah-smoking caterpillar. There were stories in those arms, as muscle and strength too. In the tight fit of so many of Chandler’s clothes, Veronica could see it, was drawn to it. She couldn’t admit that she would outright daydream of Heather’s body and her voice.

Peeking around, Veronica snuck a look of Chandler running her hands through her slightly dirty-platinum gold locks; they were not as pure blonde or as luminous as McNamara’s, and next to Duke’s chocolate brown she looked almost saintly – Ronnie would agree. The darkness of her makeup palette and the choice of shades in her clothes turned her hair into a halo of light, caught beautifully by the rays of the sun even on the foulest of autumn afternoons such as this.

“And you’re going again and she isn’t even speaking, what’s up Veronica?” Martha was whispering again under the droning of Fleming. Veronica almost wasn’t listening, slumping down into a puddle of her blue coat and well-worn scarf over her spectacles pushing into her forehead.

“Didn’t really get much sleep last night, Martha...” She lied.

“Miss Sawyer?” Miss Fleming suddenly sounded a lot louder and looming over Veronica as she attempted to lift herself up. She could hear the short sniggering from McNamara and Duke, but not the distinct fairytale chuckle she knew Chandler for.

“Uh, yes, Miss Fleming?” Veronica asked, suddenly sucked back into the room from her Chandler daydreams.

Miss Fleming took a step back and into the no-man’s land space between the main conglomerations of the laid back tables. Most of the class were women, and most of the class were just a little older than Veronica, Martha and the Heathers, but all were still mostly young and not yet out of their twenties. Why either of the other Heathers aside from Chandler had chosen to study education here after their degree was Veronica’s best guess, she knew McNamara was more inclined to law, and that Duke was more inclined to... Well, Veronica was not entirely sure what she was most inclined to subject-wise but her mother had paid for implants. That was certainly to count for something in Veronica’s mind.

“Care to reproduce your own understanding of Bloom’s Taxonomy and how we can use it to better construct aims and purposes in our lesson plans?” Miss Fleming asked of her, making the faint tingle down Veronica’s spine turn to a chill. Again she could hear the sniggering from all but one of the Heathers, and Martha exchanged dreaded looks with her. “Oh, and you can stand and deliver too since you appear to know it so well as to not pay attention to Miss Chandler during her delivery...”

Veronica’s eyes dilated. If there was anything she was doing, it was paying her undivided attention to Heather as she was talking.

“Actually Miss Fleming, I was listening to everything Heather was saying... And I completely agree that Bloom’s Taxonomy is a method and a set of words to develop better aims for the students. They’re a step-by-step guide on how to use them throughout a semester or just one session to get better learning from the students...” Veronica riddled off, almost exactly how Chandler had explained it without the regards to her own learning environment.

Fleming looked flippantly bested as if Veronica had cut her down to size in a duel before she took up her seat again. Miss Fleming coughed a small apology and congratulations while Martha beamed like a kitten at her friend’s success. Many looked at them both nonchalantly about their stab at becoming educators, but Martha knew she was doing well, better than most, and Veronica wanted nothing more than to do this. She knew her calling was as an educator.

As she sat down in a flash, Ronnie spotted Chandler eying her once more.

The black around her otherwise beautiful coffee eyes were dark rings of intense judgement but the slight and almost unreadable curl in her gorgeous lips told Ronnie she was pleased, potentially even that she liked what she saw. Martha’s hand on her shoulder and silent ecstatic clapping from Martha snapped Veronica’s attention back from Chandler’s beautiful and intoxicating eyes to the table at hand.

“How the hell did you do that?” Martha was asking, not believing at all that Veronica was listening to Chandler.

Once more Ronnie turned to glance at Chandler across the classroom, switching off from most of what Miss Fleming was explaining – she’d get the notes from Martha after class, right now she simply could not take her eyes off of the crimson red and slightly gothic Heather, her beautiful blonde hair still contained into that old red scrunchie she had kept from Westerberg. She now had bangs, beautiful platinum bangs that framed her face in a most unique way, unlike anything that her full head of locks had done in high school. The tightness of her cheekbones looked like they could cut through glass, and her eyes were beams of beautiful light surrounded by black as piercing as the bewitching flame. The brightness of slightly darkened crimson lipstick against the mellow flesh tones of her face drew attention to them, all brought together by the high neckline of her inadvertently sexy turtleneck. The rolled-up sleeves, tattoos and high-waisted, patterned pants kept her together as if she worked for Prada. Veronica thought she couldn’t possibly be real, not a student. She looked and sounded more articulated and incredible than even so many of the faculty.

Veronica set her head down again momentarily, glancing between the Heathers, each of them and then back to the table. She was operating on little sleep but was more concerned with daydreaming about Chandler.

* * *

She hardly noticed when the lecture finalised and all were beginning to pack away laptops and books, all breaking out into noise – looking to Heather again, Ronnie noticed her actively looking back. She darted her eyes directly to Martha without any hesitation, seeing in the corner of her eye Duke and McNamara starting to take notice. Martha’s expression turned from happily blissful to concern for a moment.

“What? What is it?” She asked, seeing the blush forming just under the layer of scarf Veronica brought over most of her face below her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you have to cancel tonight... I already rented The Princess Bride and got us the jiffy pop...”

Veronica’s eyes darted upwards to meet Martha’s as most other people began to pool out of the class. She could hear the wispy voices of Heather Duke and Heather McNamara leaving with little input for the signature voice of Heather Chandler.

“Huh?” Ronnie asked, trying to grasp onto her thoughts as she piled her small notebook and her barely scribbled on pad of lined paper into her satchel, pulling on her fingerless gloves and coat, buttoning herself up almost all the way. “Oh! Nah, I don’t have to cancel it’s just... Wait did you just say you rented The Princess Bride _again_?”

Martha giggled, pulling on the hem of her ugly sweater and brushing down her skirt. Her faintly chubby cheeks went slightly red as if she couldn’t tell Veronica was blushing too but not for the same reason. “Heh, what can I say, Veronica? I’m a sucker for a happy ending, I guess...”

They were out of the classroom before Miss Fleming could retreat to the nearest faculty room to either cry or drown in coffee before she saw to paperwork and the Heathers were nowhere to be seen, luckily. Veronica finally breathed, pulling the scarf back down from obscuring her face entirely. Martha looked more confused than ever as they turned into the main atrium where the reception was situated.

“Seriously, what’s up, Veronica? You’re acting as if you’ve seen a ghost all day,” she mentioned, her long and beautiful skirt flowing freely. Next to the wrapped up Veronica, she looked like a summer belle, whereas Ronnie dressed as if a blizzard was covering the rest of the campus outside of the college. And she was almost always dressed this way, no different to how she covered herself in Westerberg so hopefully, no one would ever notice her – underneath the layers of lamb’s wool coat and petite yet cute woven scarf was a fawning femme fatale that could not keep her eyes off the women, especially Heather Chandler.

“It’s nothing, I promise... Just no sleep, I guess...”

Martha reached down to hold her hand as they made their way into the parking lot. “Don’t stay up all night tonight, at least. I don’t want you falling asleep on me in the middle of the movie,” she joked, still smiling a beam of brightness.

Veronica smirked. “Oh no, how could I possibly fall asleep watching Rob Reiner’s seminal _masterpiece_... again...” she joked sarcastically, obliging her friend by curling her finger’s around Martha’s.

“You say that, but I know you love it too, Veronica,” Martha reminded her, and in truth, Ronnie knew she was right. It was their movie, not just a movie, not just slightly above average in Veronica’s eyes, but it was _their_ movie. They’d watched it at least once a fortnight since... forever? Ronnie couldn’t entirely remember when they’d started to make it their movie night go to nor for how long it had been their staple. The Princess Bride was something they simply always shared, always loved, no matter how much Veronica joked about watching it for the millionth time. It would be the movie to keep them together no matter what, as well as the constant supply of jiffy pop and candy during the viewing.

They reached Martha’s car and hugged amorously, a little longing in the way Martha returned the embrace, taking her bag to the trunk. “You sure you don’t wanna just come over tonight and stay with me? You have to get so lonely living on campus with the triplets...” She was talking about the Heathers. As if they couldn’t have been more inseparable at Westerberg, now they had seemingly become a unit, the same person entirely, to Martha. But Veronica could see nothing except how different they were now.

Chandler was something beyond the mythic bitch she was in high school; she was different in another way aside from the style. Veronica couldn’t explain it, but there was something.

“I’m fine, I swear. I have a couple of bucks... and there’s a Burger King down the street.”

“Fast food? What happened to the ivy-coloured walls and smoky French cafes?” Martha chuckled, getting into the car.

Veronica groaned, letting her bag slip off of her shoulder. “Ugh, don’t judge me, hon, I just need something deep-fried and with cheese right now...”

They blew kisses, just as they always had, and Martha disappeared down the parking lot with a famous smile and waves as she turned onto the road leading away from the college, leaving Veronica alone, the ground damp from the rain shower that had lulled her in class. She cast her mind back to Chandler delivering whatever she was talking about, there was no specific instance of when most Veronica had loved the woman talking in class, and it appeared to be whenever she did so that Veronica found herself fawning. She almost always fawned, admiring from a distance and never wanting to make contact – not for the presence of Duke and McNamara, or that Martha still obscenely hated the sound of any Heather’s voice standing and delivering, but because Veronica was almost content to never be friends with Chandler, to never talk to her at all.

She was perfectly content with admiring her from a classroom away.

The rest of her day would be monotonous, on autopilot. There would be a walk, there would be food (and quick food at that, with a small stint in the microwave, or noodles) and then there would most likely be nothing. She’d study, or she would switch off and power down in a puddle of blankets from home and little wonderful pillows she always had a craving the buy. Ronnie’s small and personal shelter of a room was as soft as she was now. Walking from the small parking lot through the overarching smoker’s shelter next to the on-site bar, she pulled her scarf up over her chin and her mouth, trying to retreat from the cold shiver of November.

It must have been only a couple of seconds or less than a minute since she had left Martha in her small car, but Veronica found her body moving without her telling it to – on a corner she felt hands on her shoulder and hip, pulling her around like a rag doll and with complete surprise making her limp, she became one. The hands pushed her against the wall, completely blindsiding her, stunning Veronica into a haze until she couldn’t even focus. Nothing was in her head, she was stupefied before the presence who now so obviously wanted, no, _craved_ and demanded her attention, her personal time. No one bar Martha Dunnstock wanted her time, no one bothered, even at University; but now _hands_ were on her!

As the cold afternoon flooded back to her vision, the bitter cool against her blushing and flaring cheeks, she noticed now what was right in front of her. A chest? A bodice! A torso of feminine accentuation clad in dark-leaning tartan and black otherness. A chic yet alternative style that Veronica would notice from anywhere.

“Heather?!”

“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw...” Heather’s voice was instantly intoxicating, like a hit of heroin or something even more addicting. Veronica’s spine was jelly in her body, her legs have given out seconds ago, and her mind felt like it was being soothed and stroked like a baby kitten. “She does speak.”

Veronica wanted to die, felt herself almost doing so as she clutched her own chest, Heather forcing her hands either side of the reserved girl. The scarf covered as much of Veronica’s lower face as she could hope but began to slip; her eyes darted all over the place, unsure to where she should be looking. She dared not to look into Heather’s sharp and piercing eyes staring at her in such a suddenly hungry manner. Gosh, she looked ravenous for Veronica, like a lioness in the wild and Ronnie the perfect wildebeest or another helpless prime source of ripe game. She tried to look lower, to bury her eyes in her own scarf but could see nothing bar the woman’s chest thrust close to her own, her lower half leant away, legs crossed like a shop window doll. Veronica stood contained as if forced into a pill, wooden rigid and as thin as she could make herself but unable to escape Heather’s advance. Fingers came to Veronica’s brunette hair, twirling strand between alluring fingers. _No rings, no nothing_, Veronica thought for some reason. _And her nails_ she thought second, noticing the talon-like fake nails that Chandler still wore; they were a pastel peach pink, gently warm to offset the cool black of her torso. The warmth from Chandler’s fingers radiated close to Veronica’s almost beetroot cheeks, making her blush even more intensely, she couldn’t help it. Heather pushed just a little bit closer, making it all the more painful as their bosoms almost bushed together. But she was so _fucking_ warm.

“W-Wh... What’re you doing?”

Chandler leered, somewhere between a model and a jack-in-the-box. She looked like a doll, but not the mass-produced kind, not the ones always plastered over store shelves, or the kind that skulked in high-schools like plastic politicians. Veronica was lost when their eyes met, starstruck; her head bombed.

“Hmmm...” Heather mused, moving her fingers from Veronica’s hair to her cheeks, her jawline, her chin, pulling it from under the confines of the greyscale and almost dusty scarf. “Good... bone structure.”

Veronica was puzzled, glancing down to the fingers holding her face. “What?”

Heather didn’t answer right away. She considered the colour and pigment of the girl in front of her now, scanning carefully and so intently. She hummed again, forcing Veronica’s heart to beat into her throat and back down again. Ronnie’s eyes rapidly flicked from side to side, moonstruck and frazzled her mind like an overheating computer and a wet book all at the same time.

“Are you wearing makeup, darling?” Heather asked.

Darling? _Darling?_

“Excuse me?” Veronica couldn’t believe this and wondered if her usual and light palette was even still on her skin, not washed away by the sweat of this rendezvous. “Yeah... yeah, I am.”

Another hum came, and Heather’s jewel-like eyes darted down, looking for her bag. Her style had changed so much, and without her eyes observing Ronnie’s face like a detective, she could inspect her back. She noted the small additions to her hips, the soft rounding of her previously tight figure, yet still, she was more beautiful than any creature Ronnie could think of. The black of her sexy turtle-neck hugged her body like a second skin, so alluring in a dark and almost nerdy way, yet still so sexy Veronica could not cope. Her tartan shirt wrapped around her waist hid most of her hips, self-consciousness probably governed that but Veronica didn’t see the need in it, her body was magnificent, magnanimous to the nth degree. She was reaching into her bag; Veronica saw another tattoo. Sleeves were now rolled down; obscuring the Disney haberdashery of a half-sleeve behind the tight black of the turtle-neck sleeves, yet Veronica saw another, the intricate floral patterns otherwise expected of such a valley-like girl that Heather was in Westerberg. From the strength of the stain and the colour of the plain black pigment now turning slightly navy blue, Veronica could judge it was old, older than the beautiful and ornate Disney half-sleeve.

From her small bag and purse (meanwhile, Veronica wondered how Heather could be warm with no coat over her turtle-neck) Heather pulled a sparkly and seemingly turtle-shell handled brush. Veronica saw her alternate wrist when Heather pulled back the small of her sleeve save getting blush on her black. Another tattoo, just how many did she have? This one was more beautiful than the first, a study of a bee, set against a hexagonal background of washed-out blue, stained onto her skin to mimic an inkblot upon the water, like spilt paint. It was gorgeous.

“Let’s get this girl some blush...” Chandler seemingly sang melodically before Veronica, charming her like a siren to a watery grave. “Heather I need your brush...”

Veronica closed her eyes; let her body rest against the brick keeping her upon her feet before Chandler. She only now realised they were still in the middle of the University grounds, still in the darkening afternoon of mid-November. With her eyes closed, all of Veronica’s world was Heather, coming closer still, the brush coming to her cheeks and caking gently in a beautiful blush to pigment her face, making her not only more presentable but utterly desirable. After a few moments, Chandler pulled away, Veronica dared to open her eyes to see such intent and desire on the woman’s face as she pulled her platinum locks back behind her crown and snapped something from around her opposite wrist to the one branded by the splendid bumblebee.

It was a red scrunchie; one Veronica could always remember the girl having. She’d never gotten rid of the thing. Veronica’s eyes widened and she saw a determination in sky blue eyes.

“Hold still, doll, and you won’t regret it.”

The air was trapped within Veronica, but through the breeze and nerves buffeting her, she found her admiration for Chandler rising to the surface. “Okay,” she told her back and readied herself again with closed eyes.

Heather came closer again, Veronica feeling the warmth from her face against her own, Chandler’s breath minty-fresh still, even with an undertone of her coffee from the morning. The latte against her nose now was oddly but delightfully pleasant. The seconds that they shared together soon turned into multiple minutes of heaven for Veronica, letting Chandler paint her like a canvas with blush, some foundation and a little more, making her skin feel both smooth but caked beautifully. She wanted to reach down, to dart her hand for Heather’s other wrist and wrap her fingers around, and to even hold her hand like a confidante.

One final hum came when she was seemingly done, or when her hand and brush finally left Veronica’s face, leaving her from the blush again. “Something still missing,” Heather whispered as if it was delivered more to herself than her muse.

Veronica’s eyes opened carefully, cautiously, seeing Heather looking at her so intently. She was not just looking at Veronica, but almost _into_ Veronica. Heather was looking into the smaller, nerdier girl with such an intention and lust that Ronnie thought she was going to turn to dust under such a gaze. Flashes of Medusa filled her, turning her to stone before Chandler, helpless to move entirely from her eyes. She was so beautiful her style a breath of such fresh air, her change in personality perplexing but welcome beyond belief. She was a different Heather, something new, something better than the mythic bitch she had been in Westerberg, Veronica felt all the more alive because of it.

“What’s missing?” She asked, lowering her defences perfectly timed for Heather to push her face forward, and her lips to Veronica’s.

The silence between them was blissful, the perfect backdrop to their unexpected yet needed kiss. Heather was fully wanting, pressing her body into Veronica’s personal space and brushed their frames together as she kissed her way around Veronica’s pretty and wanton lips. The succour was equally as intoxicating as Heather’s presence in general, and Veronica’s admiration did not wane, she was smaller than Chandler, always had been, and not just in height but in personality – she let the scarlet letter woman take the lead.

It did not last long, only long enough, perfectly long enough for Veronica to withstand, the subtle cherry in Heather’s lips, their plumpness. They felt dreamlike against her flesh. She did not want it to end, but soon enough she felt the cool air against her lips where Chandler’s lips had been, and the platinum blonde was smiling at her again, a deep and pensive smile with eyes that swam in Veronica’s mind again, considering her.

“Absolutely peculiar, and very, _very_ vogue,” Heather was breathing, still smiling at Veronica, as if she was grading her kissing, how she kissed girls. Her nailed fingertip once again traced Veronica’s jawline, before her other hand stuffed a small slip of paper into her coat pocket. Ronnie could feel it as Heather’s thigh graced in between her own.

Even with the bumblebee, the floral patterns of chic alternative gothic and the Disney half-sleeve that reminded Ronnie of a twisted tale, she got only Madonna vibes from the woman in front of her. Ronnie didn’t even notice her hands coming to Heather’s hips, begging for more.

“An eager beaver? Cute,” Chandler told her, clipped and precise, as were the movements of her hands.

“K-Kiss me again... Please,” Ronnie begged, her lips wet and her heart pounding like a double-pedal. “I need it again,” she repeated. Heather almost laughed at her as she pulled a stick of lipstick from her bag.

“How utterly precious...” She mewed, like a cat with a mouse. Quickly, she applied the lipstick and popped her lips, the pair even plumper and all the more appealing than before. “Here? Or do you wanna take me somewhere you can really get your lips around me?” She asked, looking down between them, seeing it was now Ronnie’s thigh between her own. The little reserved girl Heather remembered from Westerberg was more forward and needing than she expected.

Veronica couldn’t wait, she pushed forward, getting that cherry on her lips again, spreading the bright rouge among them both. Heather was more than intoxicating, she was one of a kind, her darkness now the most attractive thing Ronnie could focus on, and she had to keep her hands restrained from groping forward.

Chandler parted them both harshly but was smiling still, almost holding Veronica’s neck like a chalice, a wine glass of desirable blood and with a look of ecstasy and hunger not dissimilar to a vampire.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw _indeed_, Veronica Sawyer. I did _not_ expect you’d be this good at kissing a woman,” she jabbed playfully, lurching and gently caressing her jawline and neck with her own lips. She stained and painted Veronica with a wet red, marking her graciously.

Ronnie panted, exhaling all her nerves. “I’ve always been this good with women, you just haven’t..”

“Oh,” Heather silenced her with more kisses. “I just _bet_.”

She was too hungry to let this go or stop. “Come on _doll_, wanna come back to mine?”

There was no chance at all to think, if she did, Ronnie would swear she’d decline and that was definitely not what she wanted. She wanted more of this, more than this, she couldn’t help herself. And she didn’t even ask Heather why she could guess that Chandler had seen all the times the smaller girl had been staring and admiring her across the classroom. Education was hard enough, this was perfect.

“N-Yes!”

Another kiss stopped her from changing her mind, and Heather practically poured herself into Veronica with the final smooch. “Good,” she told her. “Because I’ve wanted this for a long, _long_ time. I’ve seen you staring, but you didn’t see me staring back.”

“You... What?”

“At Westerberg... Come on Sawyer. Things have happened, I’m a little rougher around the edges, but I’m still a mythic _bitch_.”

Veronica stopped, but kissed her once more, knowing all that had happened. The baby. “No Heather... But you’re solid Teflon enough for me...”


End file.
